


Danse Macabre

by Patcho418



Series: Immortal AU [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mild Blood, Mild Smut, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9505094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patcho418/pseuds/Patcho418
Summary: Lena and her girlfriend Emily are enjoying a blissful life together, but there are things that Lena is certainly hiding from her soon-to-be wife...and other things that are hiding from both of them.





	1. Prologue: Just a Shag

**Author's Note:**

  * For [downpourcity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/downpourcity/gifts).



"Just this one shag, alright, luv?" Emily murmured to the brunette as she led her down the hallway and towards her bedroom. "Nothing serious, yeah?"

Like an obedient puppy, the brown-haired girl with far too many piercings for it to not be hot nodded several times. "You got it, ma'am!"

Emily smiled and opened the door to her room; tonight really was her lucky night. Just coming out of surgery a few months ago, she'd finally decided to head out to a club with her new body and maybe meet a cute girl to shag. Luckily she'd run into this bubbly, good-spirited, and oh-so adorable Lena girl who she just knew would be fun to muck around with.

But that was it. Just mucking around. Just one shag.

It was nothing serious after all, yeah?


	2. Two Women Who Found Love

Lena was seated in her usual spot at on the green sofa, a bowl of yellow popcorn in her lap as she cheerfully yelled out answers at the game show currently playing on the telly. Her eyes wide with excitement, kernels stuck between her unfittingly straight teeth and a rainbow hood pulled over her head, she was the exact picture of a human mess.

And it was this human mess that Emily Hayes had been deeply in love with for the past three years.

It all started with the first night Emily decided to head back out into the world after her surgery and meeting up with Lena for a quick night of mucking around with. At that point, she’d told herself it’d be one shag and that’s it. 

Then Emily needed an interview. Rather, she was told she needed an interview, and the first person she thought of to ask about the potential return of Overwatch and the overruling of the Petras Act was local hero Tracer, otherwise known as Lena Oxton. She took the former Overwatch agent for coffee, asked her a few questions, ended up accepting an invitation to dinner to ‘continue the interview’, followed by another night with the bubbly hero.

The rest was, as they say, history.

As she typed casually at her laptop, she looked over at her lover and smiled at seeing her so full of joy and laughter. Those were certainly things that Emily had been missing in her life up until they met, and was now just so overwhelmed with having. Surely, the first couple of months couldn’t have been easy for Lena, having to constantly deal with Emily’s own feelings of self-hatred and dysphoria, and the rest of the time was Emily trying to figure out what had happened to her girlfriend to make her such a bubbly person without a regard for negativity.

She took the change to peer at Lena’s small chest, noticing the steady pulsing of her Chronal Anchor flashing streams of blue down her arms and torso like luminescent veins. 

“Chronal disassociation,” Lena had told Emily one night after months of Emily trying to figure it out. “It’s what happens when you fly a state-of-the-art time-crunching prototype jet and get lost in your time stream. I was basically a ghost in my own timeline, with no way of anchoring myself.”

It had been Lena’s best friend Winston—who, admittedly, Emily had been a bit startled by at first considering his bestial appearance—who had crafted the Chronal Anchor, a device implant into Lena’s chest to anchor her to the present, as well as her Chronal Accelerator which allowed her several unique abilities that were most useful as an Overwatch agent.

There was no doubt in Emily’s mind that Lena had been trying to keep all that locked away from her because it hurt. She knew just how much pain and horror Lena still faced as a result of the event even occurring in the first place. Sometimes she muttered in her sleep as if reciting events which had not yet occurred, other times she woke up in the middle of the night, wondering where exactly she was; Emily would have to calm her down during those more difficult times and tell her exactly where—or more specifically ‘when’—they were. 

Two extremely difficult women; one who had hated her body for so long that it took her nearly twenty-eight years to tell herself that is wasn’t so bad, and another who loved herself and so many others so much out of fear that one day, something so bad would happen that she would vanish without leaving something for everyone she loved.

Two women with strong fears.

And somehow they found each other, made each other better, and loved each other like no one else had loved before.

Emily smiled and reached into the bowl in Lena’s lap, causing her girlfriend to look up with an air of false alarm.

“Oi!” she snapped. “Get your own!”

Emily shook her head. “Too lazy.”

Lena snickered and placed the bowl further away from Emily. “Well, you know I don’t mind sharing. Come take some!”

Understanding fully what Lena was getting at (the cheek on her face didn’t hide her intentions one bit), Emily bit her lip, placed her laptop on the ground in front of the sofa, and dove over Lena to reach for the popcorn, landing in her lap face up as she shoved the snack into her smiling mouth.

Lena chuckled. “You just wanted to snuggle up to me, didn’t you, luv?”

Emily nodded and reached behind her for another piece of popcorn to gently place in between Lena’s lips. “You know me too well!”

The two women leaned in close to one-another, their lips touching for just a moment before Emily pulled away, the piece of popcorn now in between her lips. Lena snickered and began stroking Emily’s soft red hair. “Cheeky bugger,” she commented.

There was one more chuckle between the two before they kissed again, this time without the distraction of popcorn to separate Emily from her lover’s soft lips.


	3. Quel plan sinistre

No light entered the widow’s web. 

There were black and purple silks draping from the ceiling, suspended above a floor of barbed wire. There paintings hanging on the circular walls, each neatly suspended in what seemed to be a strange geometric web pattern. The paintings each showed the pale, purple face of a golden-eyed woman, although streaks of black had tarnished many of the visages. What little light already existed in the chamber was embittered from red lights underneath the barbed wire, but they went nowhere once being absorbed into the canopy of silks.

It was from these silks that the widow herself dangled ever so elegantly, as if putting on a display for those who would dare enter the room.

She slid across the silks, dancing across the artificial sky with expert accuracy and grace, being careful not to near the barbed wires no matter who close she got to the ground before sliding back up into her soft web.

It was here that Widowmaker spent most of her time. Something about being suspended in such a place helped not only to keep her physique at its peak, but also with keeping her mind at its peak as well. In fact, there were few things that allowed her to keep her mind clear of her intrusive thoughts, and while Talon’s more…oblivious scientists had suggested just wiping her mind more strongly, its experts had recommended she busy herself with these distractions. 

If Widowmaker wanted to keep those thoughts at bay, she would do that herself.

She looked at the paintings on the wall as she spun down one of the low-hanging silks, grimacing to herself. 

_I am not her. I am Widowmaker. She is not me._

The black streaks of paint masked a woman who Widowmaker had killed years prior and yet haunted her every day. Until she could fully convince herself that she was truly gone, she would have these thoughts. But keeping those thoughts out of her mind? That was a start.

Her golden eyes focused on a shifting presence in the darkness, and out of caution she pulled herself back up into her web. This was her private chamber. None who entered her web did so without her permission. From her canopy, she surveyed the room, looking with her augmented eyes for the shifting presence until settling on the bone white face of a man she knew to be just as demented as her. The only man who never needed permission to enter her lair—or, rather, who never seemed to care about getting permission.

She slunk further back into her coverings; Reaper was not a person she wanted to speak with at the moment. Her mind was turning on itself again, though perhaps not as strongly as it had been doing recently. Still, he was an unwanted distraction who very clearly enjoyed tormenting her and the ghost that trailed behind her.

“Widowmaker!” he called out, stepping onto the barbed wire as if it were soft prairie grass. “I know you’re in here.”

Widowmaker snarled. “Of course you know I am in here, Faucheuse. Where else would you find the spider?”

There was silence as he looked around the room, trying in vain to find at least a shadow to keep his eyes one. He wasn’t accustomed to this place of darkness, despite being a monster made up of shadows himself. But his shadows were treacherous, violent. They split and reformed and caused him only pain—a pain which he was always so eager to inflict upon others.

In this room, underneath her web, the shadows were entirely hers.

“What do you want from me?” she asked quietly.

“Your services, little spider.” 

Those words sent a comforting shiver down Widowmaker’s spine, yet she was still apprehensive of what he was requesting. “Why, may I ask, do you need them?”

“Come down here and I’ll show you.”

Again, Widowmaker was hesitant to follow his voice, but her curiosity was killing her slowly. Whenever Reaper required her for something off-the-books, it usually involved killing a specific target that she particularly despised. Last time, it had been a man who wronged her years before. 

She slid herself down in front of him, suspended upside-down as she peered into the empty eye sockets of Reaper’s face. “Who do I get to kill this time?”

Reaper snarled and backed away from the spider; though at first she suspected perhaps her sudden appearance may have frightened the dead man, she recalled that he was exactly that—a dead man who feared nothing.

The hulking shadow reached into his trench coat and, with a wisp of strange shadows, pulled out a strange cylinder. “These are the locations of all the previously active Overwatch agents. Some are still active, causing troubles for me. And there’s one in particular I know you’ve been wanting to get your hands on again for a while.”

Reaper didn’t even have to mutter any name. She knew he was referencing the silly English girl known as Tracer. When last they’d met, Widowmaker had eliminated Tekertha Mondatta, one of the Shambali and a staunch advocate for Omnic-Human peace. She’d shot him straight in the head, but only after a quick tussle with Tracer that ended in her incapacitating the agent and making a quick escape. 

But there had been something that night that Widowmaker wanted to revisit. A certain look in Tracer’s eyes as she saw the chaos unfolding in the streets surrounding Mondatta’s empty husk. The faltering of the girl’s soul, visible upon her face and in the slowed pulsing of blue beneath her clothes. That night, Widowmaker had never felt more alive, and it was partially due to the dulling of one of the brightest souls Overwatch had put forward.

She had found her most delectable prey.

“I need you to break her,” Reaper continued, bringing the cylinder just in front of Widowmaker’s golden eyes. “You’ve done it once before, but even I know that Tracer is annoyingly bright. You really seem to have been the only thing that could have caused her soul to waver. Whatever you did that night, I want you to do it again. Break her, just like you broke Amelie.”

Widowmaker recoiled at the name as if it were a flyswatter attempting to squash her; Amelie had been the presence haunting Widowmaker for far too long, even though she had killed her. She had broken her! But if Widowmaker couldn’t even properly keep Amelie from returning, could she do the same for Tracer.

She shook her head at herself; those intrusive thoughts were returning, trying to play a game against her. But Widowmaker was smart. She knew how to win.

Swinging closer to Reaper once more, Widowmaker grimaced. “I could do it…but I would like to know what you gain from it?”

Reaper chuckled—a sound like bones cracking. “I get a husk that has nothing left to lose. And when she has nothing left to lose, she has nothing left to hide.”

So that was his plan; he needed an informant, and he supposed that Widowmaker was the right person to create said informant. Just as cold as she was calculating, the spider could certainly find a way to break any spirit, but it just so happened that this one in particular had been her intended prey for quite some time.

The dead man shifted his weight onto his hips and growled. “Do we have an arrangement?”

With the faintest sign of a smile, Widowmaker licked her lips and pulled herself back up into the canopy. “I will leave it to you to prepare my shuttle, Mr. la Faucheuse. Then I will bring you your informant.”

He nodded. “I’ll be back here in twenty-four hours to escort you there. Then you will bring me my captive.”

Widowmaker simply nodded as Reaper’s figure faded into the shadows of her chamber beneath her web. “ _L'araignée est présentée avec une victime, mais elle choisit son compagnon. Pour une fois, c’est une seule et même personne._ ” 

With that, Widowmaker slunk into her web to await the hour of Reaper’s return. For now, she would supress the thoughts of her phantom as she calmed herself, mind focused solely on peering into those silly, cute brown eyes.

The brown eyes she looked forward to draining of their life.


End file.
